


in an ordinary fashion

by benzedrine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sort of), 5 Things, 5+1 Things, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, miscommunication?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:19:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benzedrine/pseuds/benzedrine
Summary: 5 times Harry sleeps with Draco and 1 time he doesn't.





	in an ordinary fashion

**Author's Note:**

> in theory this could have been vaguely good but i'm lazy and haven't got anyone checking over my work lol but i've been wanting to write one of these for aaaaages and the inspiration hit recently when i had the flu and decided i needed to attempt to practise dialogue so i was pretty excited. anyway, the title's taken from a glass animals song, all mistakes are my own and i hope you enjoy this! :)

** i **

“I was your mortal enemy,” Draco crowed, extremely drunk, and oddly triumphant at the news, “a murderous, fascist psychopath, who tried to kill you as a baby and several times during your formative years, was out there, existing, and _I_ , Draco Lucius Malfoy, was your mortal enemy?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry grumbled into his pint, somewhat subdued, “I mean, it made sense at the time.”

“Mate,” Ron interjected, “it made absolutely no bloody sense at all! The two of you were obsessed with each other!”

“I,” Draco began, rather imperiously, “was _not_ obsessed with Potty. Mildly envious, perhaps, definitely more than a bit jealous, but _never_ obsessed.”

“Draco, darling, you know I love you, but the entire Slytherin common room could probably recite, by heart, most of the rants you had over Potter, they were just that frequent,” Pansy cut in.

Turning slightly red Draco said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” and then, under his breath, so that just Harry could hear him, “Evil bint.”

The group of them had only recently become friends, but Harry could already tell that Draco was heading to that particular stage of drunk where he started singing (surprisingly well, actually) and arguing about just how many apologies would be needed for things to stop being so awkward (they no longer were, until the war was brought up in conversation). Which is why it made sense for Harry to offer to give Draco a hand home, in order to avoid being splinched.

“Potty,” Draco said, far too grandly for someone who was struggling to stand up, “not that I would be surprised, I am rather beautiful after all, but are you trying to have your wicked way with me?”

“Honestly,” Harry replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m just trying to meet my Good Deeds for the Month quota. Ran out of old witches to help across the road, you see.”

Draco laughed as they left the pub, before grabbing onto Harry’s arm with an imperious “Off we go then!” as they spun off into the night.

*

Harry woke up the next morning, slightly perplexed at his surroundings. The room wasn’t much larger than his own, but the furnishings were such a stark contrast to what he was used to, the bed far more comfortable than his own, the windows much larger. And he was _definitely_ not used to waking up with the weight of a warm body pressed against his.

Malfoy.

 _Oh, fuck_ Harry thought, trying to remember how he’d ended up here. At the time, he hadn’t felt particularly drunk, but upon reflection he remembered the havoc a few pints could wreak.

He was almost entirely certain that nothing had happened between them, but _fuck_ , he thought, as he made his exit hastily. He had slept with Draco Malfoy.

** ii **

“Really, it doesn’t hurt all that much,” Harry heard himself slur out, his voice suddenly thick with an overwhelming urge to sleep.

“Potter, don’t be a complete idiot, you’ve broken your wrist. Caught the bloody snitch, but destroyed a few bones in the process.”

“Where ‘m I?” Harry asked, yawning heavily.

Draco sighed in response, the long-suffering sigh of someone who had already answered a question several times before. “We’ve been through this, Potter, we were playing Quidditch, you hurt yourself, I took you to St. Mungo’s, and you need to sleep for the potions to take effect.”

“Sleep with me,” Harry mumbled, trying desperately to fight the drowsy effect of the medicine, “we’re friends now, and you’re so nice and warm we’ve done it before.”

He thought he heard Malfoy chuckle and move closer to the bed before exhaustion finally took over.

When he woke up, Malfoy had gone.

 

** iii **

Somehow, it keeps happening. Harry’s far too ashamed to admit that he sleeps easier when Draco’s nearby, but they’d become friends. It became almost unavoidable, and Harry did _not_ stop to think about how often he’d shared a bed with Ron or Hermione or Dean or Seamus or ~~Ginny~~.

*

“You have a motorcycle?” Draco asked, with a tone of such undisguised awe that Harry had to bite back a grin.

“I’m surprised you even know what it is, Malfoy,” Harry replied, but there was no sharpness to it, if anything, his voice had taken on a slightly flirtier tone that usual, which was odd because it was Draco Malfoy. (And it wasn’t odd at all because it was _Draco Malfoy_.)

“Merlin, she’s a beauty,” Draco breathed out, and Harry couldn’t _not_ offer to give him a ride. He definitely couldn’t refuse to let Draco rest his chin against Harry’s shoulder, couldn’t stop him from wrapping his lean arms around Harry’s waist and pressing himself up tight against Harry’s body as they sped down the streets of London, couldn’t stop the gentle snores he heard after they got closer to the road Harry knew Draco’s flat was down.

He was careful as he woke Draco up, deciding that lifting him would be easier than forcing him to wake up.

When Draco mumbled against the line of his jaw a _come up, just to sleep_ , Harry couldn’t say no.

 

**iv**

Something shifts in their dynamic after that. There’s more undisguised flirting, less thinly veiled hints at wanting something more than the odd friendship they’d managed to slip into. They're dancing around each other, almost like a game.

It’s uncomfortable too, though. Neither one of them wants to make the first move and so they end up tiptoeing around each other at times, almost walking on eggshells just to avoid talking about whatever it is that’s changed.

Harry wants Draco. That’s all he knows.

*

They’re both obscenely drunk, yet again. Or, rather, _Draco’s_ absolutely plastered, while Harry’s slightly tipsy and a new level of maudlin. Draco appears to be one tequila sunrise away from getting up on a table and belting out a Weird Sisters’ song (which actually had happened once before, in a Muggle pub just outside of London), and Harry’s friends won’t leave him alone.

“Aren’t you going to help your boyfriend out, mate? Get him home nice and safe, if you know what I mean,” Ron asks, a bit pink in the face from the combination of the sheer amount of pints he’s managed to put away, and all the snogging he and Hermione have been getting in between drinks.

“He’s not my boyfriend! And why should it be me, he’s got plenty of mates!”

“Yes,” Blaise cut in, “he does have lots of mates, but not all of them have been sleeping with him recently.”

Harry looked up at him in horror. “Who told you about that? And anyway, it’s just sleeping! Sleep!” His voice came out disturbingly shrill, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not with the suggestions that were being made about himself and Draco.

“That’s what we were doing back in fifth year,” Blaise said with a wink, before heading up to the bar to get in the next round of drinks.

Resisting the urge to bang his head against the table, or a nearby wall was overwhelming.

“Look,” Hermione offered, “just get him home safely, at least. You probably shouldn’t be sleeping together with him in this state, anyway.”

*

Hermione was right, which is why Harry ends up letting Draco crash at his place ~~even though he’s a filthy duvet thief.~~

 

**v**

“Have you ever seen a film?” Harry asks. He’s not sure what sort of an answer he’s expecting, but he vaguely remembers hearing that Draco took muggle studies one year so he can’t be completely clueless.

“I’ve always wanted to, but father would never have stood for it. Besides, I doubt I’d have been able to work out how to make it play.” Draco looks slightly embarrassed at that, but nowhere near as embarrassed as Harry’s starting to feel.

“Would you like to watch one? With me, that is. Probably at my place, because cinema popcorn is a massive rip off. Only if you want to, of course.”

“Potter,” Draco asks, his smile sly and sharp and a tiny bit shy, “are you asking me on a date?”

Emboldened, Harry decides to ask, “Would you say yes if I were?”

“Yes.”

*

Harry’s TV isn’t very big, and it’s quite chunky, but Draco’s rapt. They’re sharing a blanket on Harry’s sofa, and Draco keeps swatting Harry’s hand away from the large bowl of popcorn Harry had made.

“Your crunching will just distract me; I need to know what happens to the one in the long black coat, and how all those other ones look completely identical.”

It’s a bit hypocritical of Draco to be nattering away through the film while Harry can’t snack, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. He’d already seen it, so he leans against Draco, resting his head on his shoulder while they make their way through the film.

Before he realises it, Draco’s shaking him awake lazily.

“You fell asleep at the best bit,” he says, “They were trying to kill that bloke, but then he did some _thing_ , and are you _sure_ Muggles don’t secretly have magic for these films they make?”

Harry tries to resist, but Draco’s so animated and gorgeous and curious and Harry can’t help himself. So he kisses him. It’s soft and chaste and has Draco looking endearingly like a deer caught in the headlights. It doesn’t last too long though, because suddenly Draco’s lips are meeting Harry’s, fierce and greedy and perfect.

Harry suspects neither of them will be getting to sleep tonight.

 

**vi**

Harry was right. He’s tangled up with Draco, the two of them beneath his sheets. He’s tired, and Draco’s yawning too, but Harry’s struggling to get to sleep.

Though his limbs are heavy and sore, and his body is crying out for rest, he feels oddly renewed. He can’t stop thinking about the night (or was it morning?) before, how he and Draco had finally stopped dancing around each other, how every kiss seemed to make him harder and more breathless each time. He can’t stop thinking about how he writhed beneath the long lines of Draco’s body, or his taste, or the feeling of his weight above him.

When Draco shifts, pushing up slightly against Harry so he can feel the hard press of his cock, Harry smiles. Perhaps, he thinks, sleeping is overrated.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated! :)


End file.
